


The Problems of Mr Frye

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Costumes, Dress Up, F/M, Fingering, Het, Reader fic - Freeform, Self Insert, Sex, Violence, corsets, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working on a mission with Jacob leads to some uncomfortable clothing choices and a confession of feelings that you were not expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problems of Mr Frye

 

 

It was late afternoon, and in wintery London the skies had already begun to darken. As you slip into the equally-gloomy interior of Henry Green’s shop, the owner greets you with a dazzling smile; white assassin robes a stark contrast to the dark all around him.

'Come in, come in, my dear.' The owner enthuses, voice smooth but with unmistakable accent, as he ushers you towards the back of the shop and upstairs to the flat above.

You liked Henry. He was a good man, committed to protecting and freeing London. It didn't hurt that he was pretty to look at. You try and focus on why he asked you here in effort not to embarrass yourself in his company, you are pretty sure Evie might just kill you if you flirted with the man she so clearly had her eye on. The only problem with trying to focus on work, however, was you really had no idea why you were here.

You are ushered into a surprisingly spacious sitting room that must be where Henry lives, or at least spends most of his time. It is beautifully decorated with all manner of bright colours and decorative cloths, paintings and ornaments adorn the walls that you assume is in a style more of his homeland than England.

You are quick to spot Evie Frye first, propped up on a couch, bandaged leg straight out in front of her. After a nasty fall in her last mission she was left with an unfortunate injury. It's unusual for her to be so inanimate, and her temper had been a lot shorter the last few days at her inability to perform usual assassin tasks.

'How are you, boss?' You gauge her reaction, hoping that she isn’t still in a sour mood, but Evie only sighs heavily, clearly disheartened, while smoothing the wrinkles in her trouser leg that had to be rolled up over her bandage.

'I thought I'd have recovered by now.'

'Why we need your help.' A masculine voice interjects somewhere behind you.

Too busy focusing on Evie; you hadn't noticed her brother, Jacob, leaning against the wall being the sitting room door. You shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. Where one twin is, you would usually find the other close by.

Jacob was dressed far too smartly. That should have been your first clue something was amiss.

'My help?' You enquire, puzzled, as Henry enters the room and closes the door.

'Evie was supposed to accompany Jacob to a fancy soirée in Mayfair tonight. But with her injury...'

'You want me to go?' You ask incredulously. ‘There is no way I would fit in.’

'Can't be any worse that Jacob.' Evie smirks from across the room. 

Her brother frowns at her jibe. 'Oi.'

‘Please.’ Henry begs. ‘We cannot send him alone, for safety more than anything. We need eyes and ears inside, to help the ones we will have out.’

He is being too damned reasonable and you don’t like to say no to Mr Green, he had been very good to the Frye’s and, by extension, the Rooks. They can obviously tell your reluctance and reservation is ebbing away in the face of duty.

‘And the invitation is already for man and women. We can't send any of the male Rooks with him.’ Henry gives you such a pleading look, you simply can’t say no to those dark brown puppy eyes.

Jaw set tight, you sigh heavily. You really don't want to go to a fancy party and pretend to socialise with the toffs. You would have to be polite. It would also mean that you would have to...

Just as the thought occurred to you, Henry pulls out a long, flowing dress, complete with layers of underskirts and a damn corset of all things, from behind a screen. You glare at the three of them for a few moments. Although upset at her injury, Evie seems far too happy with this arrangement. She wouldn't be the one spending the night in discomfort and you know how much she hates dressing up too.

'Come on, love.' Jacob cajoles, giving you an affectionate elbow. 'We'll have some fun with the dandies.' He gives you his usual mischievous grin that you can't help return. Jacobs’s playfulness was usually contagious.

The younger Frye twin gives you a conspiratorial wink as he twirls the top hat in his hand. It gives you a chance to see him up close since you entered the room, and he is incredibly well turned out. Normally his clothes are slightly shabbier, top hat a little dustier, when scouring the streets with the Rooks.

Jacob has swapped his usual heavy breeches for lightweight pressed black trousers and matching evening jacket. The tailoring looks good on him, accentuating the broad line of his shoulders, the length of his arms, pinching just a little at the waist and hugging his hips. You can practically see your face reflected in the shine of his shoes. The waistcoat is heavily embroidered silk of a deep burgundy and only draws your line of sight down the front of his body.  The gold of Jacobs pocket watch and tie pin glimmer in the faint light of the gas lamps. Hair and sideburns freshly cut and brushed. He is…very attractive. Not that he isn't normally handsome, but the little bit of effort has made him doubly so.

Jacob must have noticed your appraisal and does a mock twirl in the middle of the floor, arms wide and scarred eyebrow raised in mirth. 'We'll, what do you think?'

You make a show of glancing him up and down for effect. 'Scrub up well, Mr Frye.'

'Cheeky sod. ‘He mumbles in mock huff.

Evie snorts from the couch. 'Spent an hour preening himself in front of the mirror.' 

Just when Mr Frye is about to come back with a nasty retort, you are interrupted in your teasing as Mr Green re-enters the room, this time with three ladies in tow, who you are pretty sure you have seen working the nearby brothels.

'Time to get ready.' He tries, jovially, but with the entourage in tow, it seems more like a threat.

You are afforded no privacy, and despite reservations, it did take all three women, and added interruptions from Evie, to get you ready. You were poked, and prodded, and stuffed into layers of petticoats, underskirts, garters and stockings.  Not to forget the dreaded corset, which did, you will grudgingly admit, create a lovely silhouette in your figure, but squeezed and pinched with every breath and movement. You were pretty sure if you bent over too forcefully then you would crack a rib.

The further use of ladies of the night became apparent, as a number of weapons were skilfully added to your outfit without being obvious. Masters of concealed carry for their own protection, the prostitutes had installed your trusty dagger strapped to your inner thigh, although with the volume is material of skirt you were unsure whether you would get to it in time if you needed it. A small pen sized dagger was braided into the elaborate up-do of hair. And a small string of smoke bombs had been stuffed down the front of the corset.

By the end of it all you felt a little stiff and foolish, not to mention manhandled, wandering from behind the screen to meet Evie, Jacob and Henry's approval.

Jacob gave a low whistle as you emerged, eyes comically wide. 'Nice. Looks like I'm the lucky one in this.'

Blushing you toss your fan at him, hitting chest with soft thump and falling to the floor.

Grinning, he bows to scoop it up, handing it back with an overt flourish. 'You dropped this, m'lady.'

‘Jacob stop being a twat.' Evie huffs.

Henry intervenes, changing the topic quickly before the siblings can get too carried away with their squabbling.

'Right, it's nearly time. You two need to get downstairs to the carriage and be on your way. Jacob will brief you on the plan on route.’

Walking in the heels, and with the multiple layers of dress is going to be a challenge, you think. And you are not looking forwards to stairs.

'I'm sorry.’ Henry adds sincerely in your direction. ‘Everything is very last minute, but we were not counting on Evie’s injury.

'It's ok.' You reassure the guilty, slightly worried, look on his face. 'We'll get the job done.'

Henry's smile is warm and encouraging. His palm accidentally brushes your bare shoulder as he ushers you out the shop door, pulling a glittering black shawl around you. His hand is warm and solid, lingering across your skin. It sends a shiver all the way down your spine. When was the last time a good looking man had touched you so casually, intimately? With the Rooks it was all slaps on the shoulder, or good natured punch in the arm. It was just an accident with him, he always seem so oblivious to any flirting, and his affection for Evie was painfully, _disappointingly_ obvious.

Green waves the pair of you goodbye at the door of his shop with a warning; 'Get in, get what we need and get out, don't get caught.'

‘No problem, Greenie.’ Jacob teases over his shoulder as he heads towards the large hansom waiting on the street for you.

Immediately you recognise one of the Rooks who hold the door open to let you inside. He has been dressed up as chauffer for tonight, forgoing the usual green coloured jackets most of the Rooks wore. At least you will be having familiar and safe escorts for tonight.

As you attempt to clamber into the cab with your stiff dress, Jacob quips; 'Want a shove in?'

'Don't you dare.' You growl just as he is about to place two hands on your backside and push. You only get and mischievous smirk in return.

As the pair of you settle into the cab, the Rook driving the carriage sets off at and brisk pace, and Jacob starts pulling out some small pictures and letters from a concealed pocket in the lining of his coat.

'Right, our target is Professor Woolcock.  Doctor, teacher, facies himself as an inventor.'

Jacob hands you a small picture of a man for you to study. 

'He's not as Templar, we don't think.'

'Not as Templar?' You mumble, puzzled. Glancing over the documents and trying to commit everything to memory quickly.

'Nope.' Jacob shakes his head. ‘But reports suggest he is in the midst of creating some sort of weapon, a weapon that could be more devastating than any pistol.'

'Well that's bad.'

Jacob chuckles. 'Yes it is.'

'He is hosting a party tonight, we infiltrate, I raid his office, steal the plans. If it turns out we are correct, the professor might need to be removed at a later stage to stop Starrick getting his ideas.’

Frowning, you study the plans of the professors sprawling mansion. 'So if you are stealing the plans, what am I doing?'

Jacob gives you a wide, mischievous grin. You don't like the amused look in his eye. At all.

'Our dear professor is a widower.'

Narrowing your eyes you suddenly have a good idea where this is going.

Jacob puts on a mock sombre tone and covers his heart with his hand. 'Yes, poor man's wife died tragically young. A bad case of influenza, and she had a weak heart.'

'Jacob...' You warn, he sounds far too smug; he’s enjoying this, that _bastard_.

‘Usually his parties attract several young ladies seeking a rich, influential, husband.

'No, not a chance, I'm not-'

You don't get to finish as Jacob holds his hand up, uncontrollable grin plastered across his face.

'You need to distract him. Make sure he remains downstairs and out of the way. Keep an eye out while I slip about.’

'I hate you, you know that Frye. You and Evie planned this so that she didn't have to do it!' You mutter huffily. 'And that's why Henry was bloody quick to usher us out. Debrief me on the way indeed, my arse.'

Crossing your arms over your chest was an effort thanks to the tight corset, but you hope your displeasure is conveyed in the glare you gave the boss.

'Come on.' Jacob cajoles. 'You just need to talk to him, flirt a little.'

‘What if he's not interested? They'll be lots of young, pretty, and more interesting women there.'

'Trust me, love, in that dress, he'll be interested. If he’s not then he’s either blind, or stupid.'

You ignore his deliberate attempt at false flattery and continue to scowl in the face of his cheerfulness.

Jacob licks his lips, still quirked in amusement at your predicament. 'If he's not taking the bait with you, then just mingle. Make sure he, and all the guests stay put. If you think we are going to get caught or anything, then create a distraction. I’m sure a woman of your many talents can think of something.’

A huffy silence descends in the carriage as you seethe over how they tricked you into this. You bet there is nothing wrong with Evie’s dammed leg, she'll be acting up to simply avoid this mission. This is the last time you get charmed by Mr Green, or do the Frye’s a favour. 

 

 

 

 

 

You are still in a bad mood with the Frye twins when you arrive at the large, and very impressive home of Professor Woolcock. You whistle appreciatively, eyeing the three stories, and spacious grounds. Land was prime estate in London. Where you came from houses were crammed together, greenery was lost in the need for more space, and several families overcrowded into tiny rooms.

'He can't afford this place on a professor’s salary surely?’ You ask Jacob. ‘Even if it is one of the top universities.'

'We checked him out. Thought he might have his fingers in many pies, like Starrick, you know.'

'And?'

The assassin shrugged. 'He's clean and above board, nothing more than your average scholar apparently. His family has money, and he's an only child to inherit it all.'

What was someone like this professor doing working with the likes of Starrick? Surely he didn’t need money, maybe he was being bribed? Or maybe the professor was in it because he was a sadistic little shit like some of the other Templars.

Only one way to find out, as they say.

Clambering out from the carriage as gracefully as your clothing will allow, you and Jacob are shown into the professors party, which appears to be in full swing.

Although slightly chilly, the night is clear, and people mingle in groups inside the house and out in the grounds. Delicate lanterns have been hung along the sides of the building, in trees and bushes, illuminating the night air so that guests can move around freely in the dark. The faint, low key, orchestral music acts as soothing background noise to the crowds chatter. Tantalising little morsels of canapés, and tall glasses of champagne, float around the rooms on silver platters by starched, pressed servants.

God you hate things like this. But you smile and try to remember clear enunciation of all your words as you and Jacob try to mingle with the other important guests.

After and appropriate amount of time, Jacob decides to make his move.

The professor is not what you expected, at all. Tall, but with a stocky frame, light tawny hair falls to just above his collar, and slightly darker beard is neatly trimmed. His eyes are a warm amber and remind you of being thoroughly scrutinised, like one of the lions you got to see at the Zoo once. Woolcock is much younger than you had expected, you wouldn't put him over thirty. He's a rather attractive man to be honest; this task of playing interested wasn't exactly going to be a chore.

The targets smile is warm, but reserved, as Jacob approaches him with you in tow.

'Professor.' He gets warmly. 'Jacob Frye, a pleasure to meet you. This is my sister, Evie.’

The professor’s hand is warm as he clasps one of yours in both of his.

'Please call me Philip.' He enthuses.

'You have a lovely home, Prof-Philip.' You try for small talk.  'A lot of people are here.'

‘Most of them are here for gossip and free food.’ He jokes. ‘What I really need are investors in my latest research, alas such functions are an evil necessity.

‘Very true, I find the same thing myself.’ Jacob agrees, easing into a familiar friendly course of understanding and casual banter with your target.

'Were you thinking of investing in my work, Mr Frye?'

‘Well, I am very interested, professor.’ Jacob lied smoothly. ‘First, I’m eager to learn much more about what you are…up to.’

Philip was oblivious to Jacob’s double meaning. He could be charming when he wanted to, and you were already having a hard time not laughing at the boss’ fake posh accent.

'What do you do, Mr Frye?' The professor asked, curious.

Jacob could barely contain his wry grin. 'It’s Jacob, please don’t be so formal. You could say that I am a…business man. I _own_ a few buildings in London. _Liberated_ them for quite a tidy sum.'

You shoot Jacob a look to behave, but is like trying to ask an errant child to sit still.

The professor looked impressed, even hopeful. It would be a shame when he discovered that you both had no intention of helping with his research.

'Excuse me.' Jacob drawls as Philip was asking you if you knew anything about his work, 'I think I have just seen an old friend walk in.'

With a conspiratorial wink in your direction, the assassin headed off into the crowd, lining up the opportunity for you to be alone with the professor.

Mr Woolcock gives you a sympathetic look, realising that you have been abandoned by your brother. He has a shrewd look about him, no doubt he knows exactly why a lady had been left in his company, but he was too polite to be rude, or walk away and leave you standing there. Instead he grabs two glasses of wine from a passing butler and hands you one, which you take with thanks.

Now for small talk. How are you going to keep up a conversation with this man? You sip the wine delicately and fight not to grimace. It tastes like vinegar, then again you have never tasted a wine that is palatable, you don’t understand what people see it in. This stuff probably cost more money than your outfit though.

'I must confess, you're not quite what I expected, professor.'

'It's Philip, please, but how so?' 

'I thought professors were old men in teaching robes with grey hair and a doddery manner.'

He laughed heartily in response, grin unguarded. 'Yes, well, you should see some of my colleagues.'

He gives you a warm smile, seeming a little more relaxed than when you were first introduced.

You suppose given what Jacob said, the poor man was probably expecting you to be launching into marriage proposals. You had spotted a number of ladies eyeing the professor discreetly, no doubt waiting to make their own move. You will need to keep your chat on a safe topic, try and focus on what he would be interested in, and stay away from awkward insinuations of future relationships.

‘Myself and my brother really are quite interested in knowing more about your work, but I’m afraid the intricacies go over my head. Perhaps if you were to tell me a little about it, Philip, no doubt you would explain your work much better than a third party.’

‘Of course.’ He smiles, glancing around the room quickly. ‘I dislike these type of events, I’m sure they won’t miss me for a bit. Come walk with me and I’ll tell you more.’

 

 

 

 

Professor Philip Woolcock, you found out, was a rather pleasant and charming man. He didn’t have the arrogant snobbery of someone with his position and background, or bank balance for that matter.

You soon caught on that he was uncomfortable around crowds of people, and as others stopped to chat, you felt it might be best to slip away and give him space, so as to not appear too interested, but the professor seemed more than happy to keep you at his side.

You found yourselves wandering the gardens while he explained, animatedly, what his work entailed. There was an overwhelming passion when he talked about, he would go off on wild tangents and wouldn’t mind explaining the finer points when you prompted.

Mr Woolcock soon forgot all about the party in his home and paid little attention to other goings on.

Mission accomplished. You just hope Jacob is having an easy time of it too.

Philip was a remarkable easy man to like, it made you feel a little guilty about your deceit, as you found the two of you lost all track of time with each other.

 

 

 

 

As the pair of you head back into the warmth of the house, a sharp, pinching grip is suddenly on your elbow.

You _just_ manage to stifle the gasp of pain and surprise, when you turn to find Jacob has stealthily snuck up behind you, his expression dark and haughty.

'Excuse us, _professor_. I must be getting my sister home.' He barely issues through gritted teeth.

Philip looks surprised at Mr Frye’s sudden aggressive manner, and you are a little shocked yourself.

Without pause, Jacob begins steering you through the house towards the front door, hand still firmly on your elbow. You try to shake him off but he resists, and you don't want to cause more of a scene with other guests around, so you allow yourself to be practically escorted out.

Back outside, the cool air causes you to shiver and you quickly wrap your shawl around your shoulders, nearly stumbling to keep up with the assassin’s brisk pace. 

As your carriage, complete with Rook driver pulls up, Jacob all but pushes you inside but before he can clamber, in a servant boy from the house runs out. 

'Miss Frye, ma'am. This is for you; Mr Woolcock didn't get a chance.'

Jacob grabs the scrap of paper offered, and waves the boy away, climbing into the cab to sit across from you. He glances at the card, and, with disgusted snort, throws it into your lap.

With a chance to examine it you find that it is Philips card, complete with daytime contact address. He had also hastily scribbled a note about meeting him again. 

'Looks like someone made a new friend.' The boss challenges.

You don't particularly like his tone.

'That was the point, wasn't it though?'

Jacob merely wrinkles his nose, and you grit your teeth, fighting to keep your own temper. His attitude has turned way too hostile too quickly.

'Did you get the plans and research notes?' You try, with a false friendly tone, hoping at some point the huffy assassin will elaborate on what is wrong.

Jacob pats the inside pocket of his coat but says nothing else. You take that as a yes but wonder why he isn't elaborating. The look he is giving you is utter disappointment, and anger is radiating off of him in waves.

The air inside the small carriage interior is soon charged and uncomfortable, every slight bump along the road adding to the pressure, threating to overrun.

'Just what is your problem, _Mr_ Frye?'

'No problem.’ He hisses.

But he doesn’t leave it there, or stay quiet for long. It’s almost like he can’t keep it to himself, anger spilling up and out, in the need to make sure you know exactly what is wrong.

‘Looking a bit _cosy_ there with the Templar conspirator. '

'We weren't that cosy.' You huff.

'From where I was you were.'

‘I honestly don't think he has anything to do with the Templars. While you were off enjoying the ladies and champagne, _I_ actually talked to him.’

Jacob scoffed loudly at the work ‘talked’ but said nothing more.

‘Woolcock seems like a genuine man who actually wants to invent something to help everyone.'

'Fooled you that quickly did he?' Came the assassin’s bitter retort.

You sigh wearily, tired of his attitude, tired of being tricked into this mission, and angry over being marched away from the party like a naughty schoolchild. 'It's just my opinion, he isn’t building a weapon per se, he’s creating a new form of energy, one that doesn’t require coal to burn. He wants to make it cheap, available, _renewable_ , so that the poorest people of London have heat and light and don’t have to worry about the cost. I can see how the Templars are interested though, with energy like that they could have immense weapons.

Jacob adopts a tone of talking to a very dense child, and it’s all you can do not to take a swing at him. ‘Did you even consider that he was lying?’

‘Possibly, but I didn’t get that impression from him. Usually I’m quite good at readying people, although you are sorely putting that to the test tonight, Mr Frye. If you didn't want my bloody input then why did you fucking bring me along.'

'To do your job' 

‘I did my job fine, you arse. It’s you and Evie’s fault, throwing me into this!'

Jacobs retort is scathing. 'Didn't expect you to take it that far though, we never asked you to whore yourself. '

'What?' You almost choke on your own words. Spluttering, you watch the boss, astounded at his comments, and confused at his meaning.

'I saw you _kiss_.' Jacob hisses.

Oh, fuck.

'He kissed me.' You utter weakly.

Shit, you had hoped that he, and no one else for that matter, had seen that bit. After a lengthy evening in Philips company he had kissed you. It had been a spontaneous, but toe curling good kiss that caught you off guard. His blushing reaction to his own forwardness had been the icing on the cake, and it had taken to kissing him again to shut him up in constant apologising for impropriety. Snogging a man senseless in a dark corner of a party was possibly not _quite_ how your mission was supposed to go.

The professor had enjoyed himself, there was a definite connection there between the pair of you, you liked him, as a man and as a person, and he had liked you.

But it was only a kiss. It was part of the act. Philip hadn’t really seen the real you, and you felt incredibly guilty at having let things go that far. He wasn’t attracted to you; he was attracted to your lie.

'Didn't see you putting up much resistance to it. If he'd asked nicely would you have lifted your skirt for him too?' Jacob uttered cruelly.

You couldn’t believe he had said that, and for a moment panic flashed in those hazel eyes, as if Jacob realised what he said and regretted it.

But he was expecting your temper, his words an intentional provocation. As you raised your right hand you saw the assassin flinch, so quickly struck out with your left, closed fist. It connected with Jacobs jaw with a satisfyingly loud cracking as his head snapped back in the seat.

'You bastard.' You spit.

You expect retaliation for that off-guard punch, so moved in to strike again before he could, but Jacob anticipates your move this time, and manages to grab both your wrists.

A rather one sided struggle ensues in the back of the carriage, it is too small a space, and normally you could have likely given the boss a run for his money, but you still had on the ridiculous dress and heels.

You end up sprawled on the coach floor, Jacobs’s weight pushing you down, pinning your flailing arms by your head. It doesn't stop the incensed wriggling and shrieking obscenities at him.

The carriage pulls to an abrupt stop and door is flung open. The Rook driver glances at both you and Jacob scrapping on the floor, in horror.

'Shut the door and take us to the train.' Jacob growls lowly as you yelled to be let up.

'I'm going to let you up.’ The assassin mutters. ‘And we'll call it truce.'

The Rook reluctantly closed the carriage door, and the cab sets off at a brisk pace once more.

Glaring mutinously, you are tempted to kick out the feet from under him, as Jacob moves carefully off of you and gets back into his seat.

He offers you a hand up, but you would rather suffer the indignity of falling again on the floor than take that hurtful bastards help. The stiff corseted dress doesn't make for a smooth or refined disengagement from the floor, but you manage to pull yourself up and into your seat.

The rest of the journey passes in strained, bitter silence. Seething at Mr Frye’s hurtful comments, you are also feeling a little guilty for letting things get that far with the professor. Philip was keen to see you again. No, you chide. He was keen to see Evie Frye again, the fake Evie. The one that was nice to him and pretended to be really interested in his work. He wouldn’t be interested in a woman from a London gang.

As soon as the carriage rumbles to a stop near the station that the train hideout has temporarily stopped at, you exit quickly before Jacob, and retreat to one of the train cars.

A few Rooks are all that are milling around, and there is no sign of Evie or Agnes.

Slipping into an empty car, you flop down onto the bed, realising that you are going to have to wait until Evie or Agnes returns in order to get out of this complicated dress. You don’t feel like asking any of the male Rooks that you found outside.

Tonight had been exhausting, emotionally and physically. Jacob’s chagrin had hit a nerve. His attitude had upset you, you were only doing what was asked of you, but the truth was that you had a nice time with the man you were supposed to be targeting. His attention had boosted a flailing ego, and it was nice to think through your daily routine of gang fights, assassinations and bloodshed, you could have the attention of an attractive and intelligent man.

Jacob was right; you had enjoyed it far too much and shouldn't have been contemplating a second meeting with a potential Templar.

After a long period of sitting in silence in a darkened train carriage, there is a soft knock at the door, and it slides open. Your stomach sinks; you know exactly who it is likely to be.

'Mr Frye.' You intone with as much hostility as possible, not bothering to look up from your flat out position on the bed.

There's silence for a few moments as the assassin loiters in the door, finally deciding to step inside and letting it close behind him. As you glance in his direction he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish expression.

'Listen, I'm. ..sorry. I shouldn't have been that hard on you.'

Raising a questioning eyebrow in his direction, Jacob plods on, voice uncertain.

'I shouldn't have said those things.'

'You think I would side with Templars, that I would turn on everything that's been built here?' The boss thinking that about you probably hurt more than his anger over the kiss.

'No, no. I know you wouldn’t.'

He sounded so certain. Were you, truthfully?

Turning away from Jacob, you can't look him in the eye.

'It's just...’ Jacob hesitated. There was none of his usual playful teasing or roguish attitude. He was the most solemn you have ever seen him, and that was most disconcerting. He just hadn’t seemed like himself for most of the night.

‘You were _enjoying_ yourself with him.' It’s practically an accusation.

You had been. The Professor had been good company. You remain silent as you don’t really have a good argument to contradict him.

'I saw you acting with the groups of people, the false flattery, the fake smiles, but with _him_ there was something _real_ there.'

Jacob sounded unreasonably confused and hurt by that fact. You glance at him, incredibly tired of tonight and trying to understand his sharp swing in emotions.

'I just, wondered why him? I saw you together and suddenly became jealous.’

‘Jealous, why?’

‘I-I don’t know. I never thought it would go that far. It would be just a job to you. You never act like that, seem so relaxed like that, with me, with anyone.’

You frown, unsure where Jacob is going with this. Of course you would never fake interest in him to try and wheedle information. ‘Why would I?’

Jacob shrugs, eyes downcast. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it with a change of his mind, licking his lips instead, slowly.

Why would he care if you had feelings for someone else? It was just a job. You wouldn’t jeopardise the mission for the sake of a target you might actually like, and Mr Frye even confirmed that he knew you wouldn’t put their operation at risk. Why would he care about Philip…reality dawns as you watch the expression on his face. It seems vaguely reminiscent of the way Evie looks at a certain Mr Green…

‘Oh fuck off, Jacob. A man shows me attention and suddenly you are all jealous, as if you have some sort of claim on me. You have never, once, shown the slightest interest, and now you act as if I have hurt you.’

‘I-’

‘Get out, I have had enough of your shit tonight.’

With a final apologetic look, the assassin retreats from the train car and the door thumps softly behind him.

He tried to apologise but so far, Jacob had just managed to make you angrier. You would get up off the bed and yell at him some more if you could muster up the energy.

That complete bastard! Acting all high and mighty. He was just being the usual alpha male that thinks he could dictate where your interest should lie. Well, he could just fuck off. For spite you are tempted to see if you could arrange a meeting with the professor, just to see what he would do. That would show him.

Just as you are contemplating the consequences of your petty revenge, you are startled by a quiet voice in the corner of the room.

‘I heard yelling.’

Heart hammering, you stifle a gasp; you hadn’t even heard Evie slip through the open window and hide in the shadows of the carriage.

‘Your brother is an arse.’

Evie grins as she steps into the dim light, closer to the bed. ‘True. He has his moments’

You can’t quite work up the energy to sit up, but you need help with the damned uncomfortable dress.

‘All went well then, I hear, apart from a few…disagreements.’

Huffing, you grit your teeth. The last thing you need is a yelling match with the other boss, and it’s not really Evie’s fault, despite the fact she gets a lot of blame for the actions of her brother. No doubt the _disagreement_ between you and Jacob is all around the Rooks by now. Just…wonderful.

‘Well, good job.’ You did better than we could have hoped given the circumstances. And thank you.’

You can only nod, hoping she can see it.

Miss Frye edged towards the door. You should get her to help with your outfit before she contemplates going to bed, but you don’t get a chance to ask.

‘But you are wrong, you know.’ Evie offers.

‘What?’

‘He has shown interest. You don’t see the way he looks at you. Jacob…isn’t the best talking about his feelings. Unless it’s fighting, drinking, gambling or generally making a twat of himself…well, you know how he is.’

You are about to make a smart retort, but as Evie turns towards the door of the train car, you notice that she isn’t limping, more to the fact she must have been very nimble to get through the window of the train whilst it was moving.

‘Your leg is fine.’ You challenge accusingly.

She gives you the trademark Frye devilish grin

‘I thought I’d give you and my brother some alone time on a mission. Close quarters, working together, a party, fancy outfits…I thought he might work up the courage to actually talk to you.’

You bloody knew it; the twins pretty much couldn’t be trusted.

‘Can you help me out this dress?’ You mutter wearily, tired of the damned Frye’s and their shit.

‘Jacob’s in the next car, I’m sure he’ll help, I need to get these plans to Mr Green.’

With her last parting effort to play Cupid between you and her brother, Evie slips quietly from the train car, as silently and easily as she arrived.

 

 

 

 

It’s probably better to get this over with quickly. You shuffle towards Jacob’s private car and take a deep breath before entering.

All manner of equipment and papers are strewn around the room. You find the assassin sitting on the edge of his bed. He has removed his hat and jacket, and is sitting in his shirt sleeves and trousers. The collar of his shirt is completely undone, exposing a wide expanse of neck and collar. His shoes are haphazardly strewn across the room at all angles, and you can see the glint of cufflinks on the floor beside the bed.

Jacob gives you a wary look as you enter, as if he expects you to start yelling at him again.  Picking up an already opened bottle of whiskey from the bedside table, he takes a long drink straight from it.

He has the look of a kicked puppy, and you feel a little guilty. Damn it, you shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty. It was his attitude that caused all this.

'Ok, I'm sorry too. You were still a complete arse tonight, Jacob Frye, but you tried to apologise.'

The corner of his mouth twitches in a shadow of his usual, sly, grin but it doesn’t quite meet those dark brown eyes.

'Drink?' He gestures with the bottle, and you accept, nearly coughing as the potent liquid sets fire to your throat.

'Can you help me with this?' You indicate the elaborate dress at Jacobs’s confused expression.

'Uh, how do you mean?'

'It took your sister and an army to get me into it. I’m going to need a little help to get out of it.'

Jacob swallows hard, accepting the bottle back from you and treating himself to another long drink. 

'If you get the buttons at the back, and maybe loosen the corset underneath, I think I can manage the rest.’

'Sure.' The assassin says, without confidence.

Pulling the small knife from tucked in your hair, Jacob laughs as you remove the smoke bomb from the front of your dress.

‘I forgot you had those.’

The corset prevents any kind of bending at the waist, and you can’t quite manage to reach the hem of your skirt in order to pull it up and get access to the knife strapped to your thigh.

Sighing, you give Jacob a look. This is going to be embarrassing either way so might as well get it over with.

‘You are going to have to lift the skirt up so that I can get this knife at my thigh. Or pass the hem up to me to hold, while you unstrap it.’

Jacob raises an eyebrow and clears his throat. Normally this would be just the kind of thing he would love to tease about, or perhaps throw in a few lewd jokes, but he keeps his face entirely neutral.

‘Right, uh, here-.’ He pats the small space of bed between his open thighs, so that you can raise your foot and place it there.

‘Just, um, leave the dress down, I’ll be able to-‘

The assassins hand slips beneath the long, voluptuous red skirt, as he reaches up towards the thigh strap keeping the knife holster in place.

His hand brushes your calf, your knee, the inside of your thigh as he searches for the right spot.

‘Sorry.’ He mumbles each time he accidentally touches you.

Eventually you feel his fingers tugging at the straps, warm palms caressing the bare skin of your tights.

You keep your eyes trained upwards on the ceiling, not wanting to look at him so intimately close, focusing on keeping your balance as you stand on one foot in the slightly swaying train and not the rather pleasant feel of slightly calloused hands touching you with infinite care. You have never been so aware of your own pulse; you would swear you could feel it between your legs...

The strap gives way with a few tugs, and Jacob quickly hands you the garment, sliding the hem of the skirt back into place and easing your leg back onto the floor.

Now that you have been disarmed, you just need to work on the dress.

Jacob scoots back on the bed until his back is against the train car wall. It lets you turn around and sit on the edge of the bed between his open leg, with your back to him and giving him access to the fastenings.

You can feel the tips of his fingers gently caress your bare shoulder as his hands move towards the long line of impossibly small buttons down the back of the dress. Nimble assassin fingers make easy work of them and you can sense the restrictive silk fabric sag as it's undone, but the corset is still keeping you uncomfortably upright.

There is almost complete silence in the train car, just the gentle rattle of it on the tracks and Jacobs breathing, as he slowly works his way to the base of your spine.

You feel his touch again more firmly, as finished with the buttons, he turns his attention to the corset underneath. The fabric gives a little as he unlaces the first section, and you get to breathe a deep sigh of relief. The first time you have been comfortable and could take an easy breath in hours.

'They really that bad?'

'You wear one and see.'

Jacob chuckles softly. 'It's ok, I believe you.'

His fingers gently brush your back, back and forth, the occasional graze of skin against skin, as he works to unlace the corset. His touch, so gentle against your bare skin, causes you to shiver.

'Are you alright, are you cold?' He asks, and you can feel him lean closer, warm breath caressing your shoulder, he rubs both hands down your upper arms. ‘I can get you something to wrap up in.’

'No, I'm not cold.'

‘Ok, I’m nearly finished.’

Jacob leans in closer to unlace the last of it. His knuckle traverses the line of your spine, gently tugging at the criss-cross pattern of ties holding you into the corset. His touch is delicate, softer than you would have imagined for a man of his size, and one that bare knuckle fights for sport.

'Jesus, these things are horrible.' You hear him mumble, as a large, incredibly warm palm, rubs what must be a long indent in your skin. 

There's the softest kiss between your shoulder blades where his hand had rubbed, and as you glance over your shoulder, you can just see his dark head bent towards you.

Jacob pulls away quickly, his eyes meet yours briefly before dropping to his lap.

‘Sorry.’ He mutters. ‘There are a few red marks where it’s chafed you. We might have some sort of lotion here if you want something to put on the irritation-‘

‘It’s alright.’ You reassure. ‘It’s fine now that the insufferable thing is off.’

The front of your dress is fully loosened and you need to hold it in place with your arms to keep your breasts covered.  Turning to face Jacob, his eyes flick downwards quickly and back to your face. You smirk at his blatant attempt to catch a glimpse of you and not get caught. It’s almost nice and comforting to see that Jacob is still Jacob.

The assassin watches you carefully, holding his breath, and deathly still. As you shuffle a little closer, his arms slip automatically around your waist, helping to tug your body against the front of his.

His embrace is warm, solid, incredibly and unexpectedly comforting. What were you looking for from this? Comfort? Pleasure? Were you just curious if he was serious in his interest?

Hands explore the smooth expanse of bare back revealed by loosening your dress, as you lean in towards him, hinting for a kiss.

Jacob scoots closer on the bed, almost tugging you across his lap in order to get a better position. His lips caress yours, slowly, hesitantly at first, but you can quickly feel the firmer press of facial hair against your skin as your eyes flutter closed and you get lost in the feeling of being wrapped up against him.

Jacob kisses like he teases; cocky, eager, and full of passion and mischief. His tongue darts in, flicking lightly in a playful dance with yours.

You end up practically cradled in his lap, out of breath and flushed, nipples strained to sensitive peaks by the brush of your dress, aching for touch.

Jacob pulls away from you, looking much more like himself and less of the kicked puppy when you entered, ego clearly placated by your attention. 

'Am I better than him?' He teases.

'Oh Jacob, you are such an _arse_.' You whisper affectionately as he dips his head to start another bout of intense, fevered kissing.

His palm slips across the loose front of your dress, giving a little tug to indicate what he wants, but waits for permission. Fingertips trail across bare skin just at the mound of your breasts, leaving you skin tingling, awaiting more touch, more pleasure.

With the bodice loosened, it doesn't take much for the dress to slip downwards, a slight wiggle of your shoulders and hips, as the assassin manoeuvres you onto your back so that he can cover your body with his. Jacob’s gaze darkens as he watches the reveal with interest, taking in the vast expanse of smooth soft skin and your breasts now exposed to him.

A large male hand come up automatically, cupping one of your breasts as his mouth hovers against yours again. His touch is electric, tingling across every inch of bare skin that he comes in contact with. His thumb softly stroking across your nipple has you moaning encouragement into his mouth and writhing hard against the hard planes of his body.

Arching your back, your hands reach out for something to hold onto, curling around Jacob’s biceps, and trailing across the smooth back of shirt as his mouth explores yours.

It's not enough; you need something more, you need more of his naked body against yours, skin against skin. Sneaking a hand between you, you outline the already stiff length of Jacob’s erection through his trousers and he groans loudly at the touch, breaking your kiss to watch you hungrily.

He smirks at you as you bite your lip, shamelessly stroking him until his eyes unfocus and he needs to drag your hand away or risk ending your fun too soon.

Pinning your hands beside your head, Jacob presses his body pressed tight and snug against yours, kissing hungrily, desperately, exploring every inch of the inside of your mouth. His teeth tug gently at your lip, drawing a pleasurable gasp from your throat.

You can feel him, hard between your legs, pressing against the damp of your underwear, his own clothing tented and stretched tight over his arousal.

As you buck against him, he writhes back, just as firmly, rubbing himself between your legs and driving you mad with frustration.

Jacob lets go of your hands to kneel above you, and starts frantically, and sloppily, undoing the buttons on his shirt. You to help, just as eager to get him naked, and begin working the buttons loose, exposing pale, muscled, chest.

Your fingers automatically trail the outline of his tattoos, the curve of the rook’s wing against his collar and the stylised cross on his upper arm. Jacob grins as he pulls your hands away from their exploration, kissing your fingertips as he tries to wiggle your dress down further, but with no success.

'Fucking hell, there's more?' He jokes, as he begins unlacing the various underskirts holding the bottom half of the dress in place.

The infernal contraption is soon discarded to the floor and Jacob turns his attention to the stockings encasing your legs. He slowly peels down one, gathering the fabric deliberately with nimble fingers. He brushes the back of your knee as he slides one down, and it sets you off giggling with a responding smirk from him.  He places a kiss on the bottom of your foot as he removes the stocking, unable to resist tickling you with his fingers too, before moving onto the next leg, palms grazing your thighs, your calves, every inch he can reach.

Turning over, you try and wriggle away from his tickling, but are easily dragged back into place, abandoning tormenting you so that he can pull you up to kneel beside him, hot mouth back against yours in a searing kiss.

Your skin seems incredibly sensitive to the cool night air after being bound so thoroughly. You wrap yourself in the warmth of his body, happy in his large arms encasing you.

Jacob holds you against him, palms cupping your backside to pull you impossibly close to the front of his body. You can feel yourself, already wet, rubbing against the coarse front of the assassins trousers. The fabric scrapes against your clit and you groan into his kiss, bucking your hips, looking for more stimulation.

Jacob obliges, squeezing your backside in large, rough hands, pulling your hips against his own as he thrusts forwards, the hard length of his encased cock rubbing between the folds of your pussy.

You feel the brush of Jacob’s palm against your breast, skimming across your stomach, and lower to your hip. He slips his hand between your bodies, fingers caressing your clit.

Pulling away from his kiss, you cry out in pleasure, encouraging more with eager movements of your body.

Fingers seek lower, finding you wet, he circles your opening, awaiting permission.

‘You want this?’ Jacob murmurs against your parted lips.

You nod hazily, too overwhelmed by the pleasure. Why would you even think of saying no?

The assassin kisses you eagerly, tongue penetrating you just as his fingers do, swallowing your low cry of pleasure with his mouth. Fingers and tongue dance together in perfect rhythm, caressing and massaging, teasing you with their touch.

You tremble against him, uncomfortable on your knees, even on the soft bed. Jacob lowers you gently to the covers in response, settling himself over you and kissing his way down your taught neck as your back arches, pushing your hips towards him.

Lips skate over your collar and neck, before easing down to pluck one peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking in just the right way that has you mewling for more. His thumb has joined in the dance, stroking across your clit whilst his thick fingers curl inside of you, stroking along the front wall of your vagina in a come-hither motion.

Your fingers tangle in Jacobs’s hair, looking for something to hold onto. He grunts gently if you tug to hard, but doesn’t seem to mind your fingernails delicately scratching against his scalp, not necessarily in encouragement, more for the lack of being able to control your response to the pleasure you are receiving.

You are on the brink before you know it, so responsive to his touch, and eager to have the overwhelming wash of building orgasm claim you.

Your vocabulary is reduced to mumbles, whimpers and pleads of ‘more, yes, please.’

‘Jacob, I’m really close.’

His teeth graze your nipple, he sucks just that little bit harder while his fingers continue their assault. ‘That’s it, babe, just a little more.’

His thumb seems to be pressing harder against your clit as it strokes, the low growl emitting from his throat rumbles through his chest and reverberates over your skin.

The building tension in your body suddenly snaps, you are unsure what pushed you over the edge, or if you simply couldn't handle anymore stimulation, but your inner muscles convulse around his fingers, spine bowing, and you can even feel the slightest tremble in your legs as you are left panting in orgasm.

Disentangling himself from your legs and crawling upwards over your body, Jacob gives you a self-satisfied smirk, but is soon kissing you again, bracing himself up on forearms so as to not squash you under all that lean, muscled, body.

You slip your palms under his open shirt, enjoying the feel of his almost searingly hot skin, before sliding it off of his shoulders. As he fights to remove his arms from the rolled up sleeves, you take his moment of helplessness to scoot further down the bed, exploring his collar and chest with your lips and teeth.

Curling your tongue around one of his nipples, you gently blow cool air over the wet flesh and the assassin shivers above you.

'Get up here, you.' He laughs, dragging you back to face level with him, as he discards his shirt to the floor.

Jacob rolls slightly to the side so that he can begin loosening his belt.

You watch the long piece of leather join the shirt on the floor eagerly, enjoying the sight of him stripping off. You lick your lips, unable to conceal the excitement of the next piece of clothing to go.

It’s a little awkward getting his trousers undone, hampered by the lack of space on such a narrow bed, but also the impressive erection straining the fabric.

With your assistance, you both manage to wriggle the trousers down to his thighs, and you take a moment to admire the gloriously appealing sight of Jacob nearly completely naked and exposed to you.

He must have realised you had stopped tugging his clothing off and were just watching him there on the bed. Beautiful hazel coloured eyes meet yours and he smirks.

‘See something you like?’ He laughs.

‘Definitely.’ You tease back, drawing the tips of your fingers across the smooth, velvety soft skin of his erection.

Jacobs smirk disappears, eyes fluttering closed as his hips jerk towards your touch.

His hand wraps around your to halt your movement, voice thick with lust. ‘Fuck. I _need_ you.’

Breathing heavily, Jacob kicks off the last of his clothing and rolls you under him with practiced ease. He settles comfortably between your open thighs; body a snug, welcome, weight against you.

His slow, agonisingly teasing slip inside of you has your back arching, fingernails scraping down his back.

The assassin’s low, greedy, moan is matched by your slightly higher pitched one, enjoying that first, eager thrust inside. 

He takes a moment, body joined with yours, to kiss along your jaw, neck, and down to your shoulder. Tongue trailing the same path, tormenting you.

You squeeze your inner muscles, bucking your hips, trying to encourage him, you need him to move, but Mr Frye seems happy to take his time now that he is joined with you, letting his mouth and hands wander your body.

‘Jacob… _move_.’ You whine, with a roll of your hips, and he grins roguishly at you in response.

‘Patience.’ He purrs, even as his hips buck to meet you, and yes, god, _this_ is what you needed.

You are overwhelmed by the sensation of him moving inside of you, the bunch and play of muscles in his arms and back as he pushes his body into yours, and the soft tickle of the dark hair lining his chest and stomach as it brushes against you.

It's awkward and uncoordinated and first, his body moving against yours, hips bucking to a different rhythm. You need friction, and heat, and your hips move all wrong against his too, but don't care, you just need him.

Thick fingers dig into your thighs, tugging your legs up to wrap more securely around his hips, allowing Jacob to slip deeper inside of you with a hearty moan.

He seems spurred by your breathless, panting, encouragement in his ear. You can’t even tell him what you want, what you need. You can only move your hips in time with his, run your fingers through his hair, and moan desperately with every exquisite thrust.

Jacob angles his hips, rotating and grinding against you to stimulate your clit against his pubic bone.

You can soon feel yourself build towards another, pleasure filled orgasm with every buck of his body and every soft, hungry kiss against your skin. He must be close, there is a sheen of sweat on his brow and you can feel the slight tremble in the upper muscles of his arms.

Jacobs hips have taken on a more erratic rhythm again as he loses himself in his pleasure, and seems more concerned with just focusing on your clit to make you cum once more before he does.

You bury your head against his neck, teeth sinking into his should in effort to stop your cries of pleasure from being too loud, but in a fairly thin-walled train car, it’s likely someone heard you anyway.

‘Fuck.’ Jacob whispers as you convulse around him, curling as close to his body as possible.

With a few last fitful thrusts of his hips, the assassin groans lowly, body sagging against yours.

As you both pant heavily, Jacob give you a lazy smile as he slips his softening cock from you, kissing you softly on the lips.

There is an unusual silence as the train gently rattles along the tracks, and after a few moments you hear it: an enthusiastic round of applause.

Cheeks burning, you bury your head against Jacobs’s neck. It’s clear you weren’t nearly as quiet as you thought you had been and the Rooks in the other train cars offer their encouragement.

‘Bastards.’ Jacob mutters as you give a mortified squeak against the warm, soft skin of his neck.

‘If I come out there.’ He yells. ‘I’m shooting the first person I see.’

‘Jacob!’ You chide, but he gives you a mischievous grin.

There is a prominent sound of running footsteps, chairs scraping and doors closing, as several heavy Rook boots scarper for cover.

‘Sorry.’ He says. ‘You don’t mind them knowing?’

You give him an understanding smile. ‘It’s not like we can keep much a secret. Around here anyway.’

‘At least we don’t have to announce anything.’ He offers cheerfully.

He suddenly looks a little guilty. ‘I assume you didn’t want to keep it hidden-I mean, _I_ don’t want to keep this hidden, I-, we are together? This is more than just…this.’ He fumbles, expression serious.

You realise this is probably the best conversation regarding a relationship you are likely to get out of Mr Frye, given his usual demeanour.

‘I-' You hesitate, unsure of how to word what you should be asking.

‘I would like you to stay. Here that is. Not just _here_. Stay with me. Not just tonight. Every night.’ The assassin gives you a pained look. ‘Fuck. I’m bad at this.’

‘It alright, Jacob.’ You laugh. ‘I’m here if you want me to be.’

With that, he curls beside you, managing to manoeuvre the pair of you under the bed covers.

Jacob slips his arm under your head, tucking your back against his chest so that your bodies are moulded together. His other arm snakes around your waist while he gently places a few kisses against the back of your neck and shoulder and you both doze off to the low hum of the train on the track.

 

 

 


End file.
